


Getting It Over With

by Roundworm



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet, back with a short one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24089218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roundworm/pseuds/Roundworm
Summary: Cooke groaned overdramatically and briefly buried his face in his hands. “For the eighty-fifth fucking time: no, never.”Well, how about that. Charles Cooke, self (and incorrectly) proclaimed Expert In All Things, was a kissless virgin. It wasn’t really funny, but Rossi found himself chuckling anyway. “Huh.”
Relationships: Private Cooke/Private Rossi (1917)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Getting It Over With

**Author's Note:**

> *throws more into the tag* hehehhe

“Never?”

Cooke groaned overdramatically and briefly buried his face in his hands. “For the eighty-fifth fucking time: no, never.”

Well, how about that. Charles Cooke, self (and incorrectly) proclaimed Expert In All Things, was a kissless virgin. It wasn’t really funny, but Rossi found himself chuckling anyway. “Huh.”

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh at me you bastard,” Cooke snapped, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “Why is that so weird anyway? It’s not.” 

Rossi propped his elbow on the desk in their dorm and rested his chin on his hand. “‘M not laughing at you. Just surprised is all.”

The younger man paused a moment, his brow furrowed. “Seriously?”

Oblivious dumbass.

“Yeah.” Rossi shrugged. “Figured you’d’ve gotten something by this point. You’re… alright.”

Okay. Maybe he could stand to be a bit more overt.

Cooke snorted humorlessly. “Right on mate, I’d’ve thought so too. I suppose you’ve a list as long as your arm then, if I’m just ‘alright’.”   
Rossi’s nose scrunched up at that comment.

“Eh, not quite. ‘M no prude, just... not keen on jumping for the first thing that moves just to prove something.”

A beat of silence passed when Cooke hummed thoughtfully, uncrossing his arms at some point. Then, a stupid, reckless, absolutely batshit insane idea (that was usually Cooke’s thing).

“The first kiss is always the hardest, yeah? ‘Cause you’re nervous about it and all.” 

Cooke nodded in absentminded agreement, not quite paying attention. Dammit.

“Why don’t you just get it over with now,” Rossi continued slowly, “with someone who knows what… they’re doing,”   
he was met with a blank, questioning stare. Was he doing that on purpose? “So you can just get on with your life?” 

“If I haven’t gotten a date by this point, what makes you think I’ll be able to now?”

Rossi closed his eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath. He just genuinely was that clueless.

“I— I meant me, Charlie.”  
Cooke blinked.  
“Just to… get it over with.” It wouldn’t mean anything, it didn’t have to mean anything, he was just being a good friend here. “Yeah?” 

To his endless surprise, after a fairly brief period of shock, Cooke looked like he was actually considering it. Then he nodded. 

Rossi didn’t think that would actually work.

“Well go on then,” Cooke egged him on when Rossi apparently spent too long just staring. “Unless this is part of the process, oh God of All Things Romance?” 

He snapped out of it after a couple more seconds, stumbling to his feet. “Er— right, yeah.” 

Cooke snickered at his—admittedly obvious—excitement, but it died out in his throat when Rossi settled back down across from him, cradling his face in his hands far too lovingly for ‘just getting it over with’. “Close your eyes.” He murmured quietly. The man obeyed, continuing to surprise him.

Rossi took this moment to openly admire his face when it was in a rare state of relaxation. He swept a thumb across his cheekbone and smiled absentmindedly at the way Cooke’s eyelids fluttered, how his hands came up to blindly grasp at Rossi’s arms for reassurance.

“Purse your lips ya numpty, I’m not trying to kiss a brick wall here.” 

Cooke hit him—tough crowd—and his eyes blinked open again. There was something vulnerable there. “If you’re just gonna fuck with me—”

Rossi shushed him quickly. “I’m not, I’m not, I know you’re nervous, I’m sorry.” 

The younger man grumbled under his breath and scrutinized him for another moment or two. Eventually, he seemed to have decided to give Rossi another chance, because he closed his eyes again and followed his directions. 

God, he was so pretty like this. He had to commit this to memory before he closed his own eyes, considering it most likely wouldn’t be happening again. Delicately, Rossi tilted his head forward and pressed their lips together. 

Technically speaking, it was the worst kiss he’d had in his entire adult life (it really was like kissing a brick wall), but just the simple fact that it was Cooke elevated the experience tenfold. Even so, it really would’ve helped if said experience-enhancer moved at all.

He pulled away after a few seconds of what felt like having his lips against a plank of wood, a bit unwilling to open his eyes yet. “There ya go mate,” Rossi finally spoke again. “Now you’re freed from the... shackles of societal expectations.”

“Uh— th—” Cooke’s unintelligible stuttering got his attention. When Rossi mustered up the strength to reopen his eyes, he was greeted by a face flushed a brilliant shade of red. “Wh— what kind of nineteen year old has only been kissed once?” 

Rossi raised a particularly smug eyebrow. “Y’think? Can’t imagine that’d be too weird.” 

“Don’t make me ask, you prick.” He scowled, but there was no real fire behind it. Rossi softened a bit—he couldn’t help it—and tapped their foreheads together. Cooke simmered down immediately and his eyes slid closed in anticipation. It was so fucking adorable.

“You want me to kiss you again?” He asked quietly, because he was enamored by Cooke’s newfound embarrassment and desperately wanted to see how far he could push it. 

“For fuck’s sake—” Cooke groaned in frustration and surged forward with what seemed like the intent to knock the teeth out of his skull.

By the grace of God Himself, Rossi managed to catch himself before they tumbled head-over-ass right off the foot of the bed. Other sacrifices had to be made, though. Cooke jerked back at his yelp.

With one hand bent awkwardly behind him and the other coming up to cover his now-smarting nose, Rossi stared up at him in amazement. “Jesus, if you thought I needed work done you could’ve just said it.”

Cooke looked absolutely mortified and Rossi couldn’t help the grin that slowly grew on his face. That only made it worse.

“Aw c’mon,” He tried to soothe Cooke’s crippling humiliation, but it was hard to make it sound genuine through poorly stifled giggles. “C’mon Charlie it’s fine, ‘m not bleeding, see?”  
Ah, shit, he actually was bleeding a little. Why was that so funny?

Cooke attempted a pitiful escape but Rossi caged him against his chest, no longer able to keep his laughter at bay. Finally resigned to his fate, the younger man hid his face and deflated into a paper thin embodiment of shame.

“I’m sorry, it’s just— ah, it’s not funny, it fuckin’ hurts.” Rossi wiped tears from his eyes before gingerly lowering himself onto his back to give his poor wrist a break. “Come on pretty boy, you can try again, just don’t break my nose this time.”

The glare he got for that probably could’ve killed a lesser man.

“Oh I’ll break your fuckin’ nose…” He grumbled, and Rossi had to choke down another bout of laughter because Cooke had gotten up on his forearms and was leaning down with far more care than he had previously—in direct contrast to his words.

He’d gotten a bit better the third time. And the fourth time. And the fifth.

At some point he lost track.


End file.
